<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Moment at Dusk by turningoverwill</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083035">A Moment at Dusk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/turningoverwill/pseuds/turningoverwill'>turningoverwill</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Targling, F/M, Fluff, Slice of Life, we do not acknowledge season 8 in this house</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 02:13:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,914</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/turningoverwill/pseuds/turningoverwill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>
    <span>His heart clenches when he notices Daenerys’s huddled form under the furs, her back towards him as she sleeps facing their little miracle.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a dream she thought was lost to her, but here in front of her is the proof it never was.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> Jon and Daenerys contemplate the wonder and love they have found in their lives during a quiet moment at dusk.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Moment at Dusk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s far too late for his liking when he makes it back to their chambers. A meeting with some lords from The Vale taking unnecessarily long and without the aid of enough ale, but he has too many things already planned for the morning and does not want to start his day greeted by their pinched faces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He catches the heavy sigh before it releases, his whole body leaden as he enters the rooms as quietly as he can manage. His heart clenches when he notices Daenerys’s huddled form under the furs, her back towards him as she sleeps facing their little miracle. The hands of mother and daughter resting beside each other despite the slats of a crib, and Jon feels his breath catch in his throat. He resists the need to pinch himself, something he finds he needs to do increasingly, still unbelieving at the fact the keepers of his heart are contained in this room; at the fact his heart has keepers at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He removes his cloak and places it over the back of a chair, before sitting to remove his boots. The quiet groan is long as he stands and stretches slightly, allowing himself a moment. He moves to add more wood to the fire, knows he won’t want to get up later to refresh the flame. He’s answered with a crackle of burning wood, and it’s a sound he’s not had to take solace in in some time. He’s poking and rearranging the logs when he hears the beginnings of a whine, and he can’t help the small smile that twitches at his lips. He thought he would have to go to sleep without seeing the eyes he loves the most. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He quickly removes his gambeson and places it on top of his cloak before making his way to the crib, careful not to wake Daenerys with his movements, hoping she stays asleep until their daughter is ready for her next feed. He softly shushes as he leans over, eyes that should be closed in sleep beginning to stir, and he doesn’t hesitate to pick her up and cradle her in his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knows it’s him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>her Papa</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as she nuzzles into him and Jon can feel the tears springing in his eyes, struggling not to fall. Joy spills from his heart and spreads through his body, the warmth it causes providing more heat than any fire he’s ever known. He bounces slightly as he paces the room with her, half hoping she quiets and doesn’t fully wake as he taps her back. The other half of him hopes she does open her eyes, if only for a moment, because being able to look into his daughter’s eyes makes the love in his life feel less like a dream. He feels and hears her stirring less gently, and knows that he will soon be greeted by one of his most favourite things. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He deposits himself carefully in the other chair by the fire, and with one hand tentatively undoes the laces by the neck of his tunic. A gurgle has him looking down, and he cannot keep the delight from his face as his daughter peers up at him, blinking; the purple of her irises bright with the glowing embers of the fire, and it makes his very soul ache with devotion as they remind him of her mother’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His greeting is murmured, but his girl responds anyway. “Good evening, my brilliant girl. Have you been good today? Papa has missed you.” He leans down to place a kiss, then another on her forehead, unable to stop himself from nuzzling his nose into the whispers of hair that lay atop her delicate head. “I love you so much.” He is gradually becoming accustomed to being overwhelmed with the fierceness of his love whenever he thinks of his daughter, but when she is in his arms, the feeling threatens to consume him whole. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reaches behind and grabs the fur hanging from the back of the chair. Shuffling her in his arms so that her head is resting on his shoulder, he wraps the fur around her shoulders and encases her. He feels the soothing rhythm of her breathing against his chest as he rubs her back under the cocoon he has created. He leaves a kiss on the side of her head, is sure that like him, she is succumbing to the sleepiness of the hour. The feel of her steady heartbeat brings him a peace he never thought possible, and he sends a prayer to whichever gods may be listening for her protection from any evil that may seek to harm her. He leans his head lightly against hers, and allows himself to rest his eyes, for a moment of pure calm, before he has to rise and place them both in their respective beds. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of it is the emptiness of the space beside her that wakes her, the relative coolness of the sheets indicating it had been vacated some time ago, if at all. As they look undisturbed, Daenerys judges it is the latter. The other is the ache beginning to form as her breasts become heavier. She sits up, eyes wandering until they make out her husband’s form; near slumped in a chair by the fire, their child curled up on his chest. She knows from experience how his steady heartbeat is the most comforting lullaby. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sweet ache roots itself in her bones; deep and consuming. The energy to fight the tears that well in her eyes has left her, and she cares not when they fall as she tries to commit every small detail of this moment to memory. The smallness of her daughter, the softness of her husband, the way the amber shadows dance on Jon’s face from the fire. It’s a dream she thought was lost to her, but here in front of her is the proof it never was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Daenerys grabs a fur from the bed and wraps it around her as she stands, thankful for the toastiness of the room as she makes her way towards them, her feet taking the steps before she can even think. The need to be close to them is instinctive; a pull towards them and she goes without a second thought, and she hopes it will always be this way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sits on an arm of the chair, beside her daughter's head, and she leans over to place a soft kiss on her crown. Her fingers find their way into her husband’s curls, a gesture that calms her as much as it does him. Being able to touch them; her family, tethers her in a way that mere thoughts of them cannot do. She has to fight the notion that this is a dream; that she will wake to the heartbreak of this being a jape played by her mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gazes at her husband, noting the dark circles stubbornly burrowed under his eyes; that even in sleep, somehow, rest evades him. She knows that her own eyes reflect the same exhaustion. That despite always waking encased in his arms, the deepening bags under both their eyes only serve to remind her just how much there is left to do; of the battles that lie ahead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knows that Jon is being pulled in seemingly all directions by Davos and Sansa, constantly bringing forth matters for his attention. She understands, because Tyrion and Varys have been irritating her with seemingly endless tasks; tasks that always seem to be pulling her in the opposite direction of wherever she may find her husband. She misses him, and knows that he misses her too; small moments stolen between sleep not enough to assuage the guilt he feels of not always being able to kiss their daughter goodnight, or indeed good morning. But she knows that he does it for her, for them, so that she may give their daughter her first feed of the day, as well as the one before sleep; a ritual Daenerys is beginning to find sacred. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks down to where her daughter sleeps on her Papa’s shoulder; a hand peeking out from under the blanket. She always marvels at the size of her daughter’s hands; the delicate digits fascinating her. She’s awed whenever they wrap around one of her own fingers, the physical grip fragile, but the grip on Dany’s heart strong and unbreakable, tightening whenever she feels a gentle squeeze. Gentle, yes, but strong enough to make it feel as though it could stop her heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can take it no longer, so she leans her head down to press another soft kiss on her daughter’s forehead, the wisps of hair tickling Dany’s lips. She pulls back, and can see lids twitching, fluttering open. Her heart clenches; purple eyes so like her own looking back at her, and Daenerys thinks she might drown in the love that floods her body. Her daughter squirms in her father’s arms, beginning to moan, and Daenerys tries to quiet her before the noise wakes Jon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Too late.” Her gaze finds its way to sleepy grey eyes, a tired smile greeting her own. His head leans into the hand tangled in his hair, and she resumes her massage; a low groan letting her know he appreciates her ministrations. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you been back long?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmmm not sure. I met with Lord Royce and a few others from The Vale; didn’t want our morning to be sullied with their complaints.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gives him a small smile. “Thank you my love.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, there are enough things for you to worry about tomorrow.” She wants to lean down, press a more intimate greeting to his lips when their daughter begins to fuss more readily; hungry and tired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, let’s get in the bed. This chair will leave my bones stiff as the dead if we fall asleep here, and this little one needs her Mama.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Daenerys leads them back, and settles, lowering her dress before Jon places their daughter in her arms. He presses a kiss to her forehead as she begins feeding, before she clears her throat and he smiles, pressing his lips to hers. He changes his tunic before he lies down fully, and she murmurs a sleep well as his hand comes to rest on her thigh. The sound of her daughter suckling is a sound that Daenerys will never tire of, and as she runs her finger tenderly over her daughter’s full cheeks, she realises she feels the same about her husband’s low snores; they are a blissful calm. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<span>Later, when her daughter is back in her crib, Daenerys will allow herself a moment of peace; once more encased in her husband’s arms, secure against his chest and taking comfort in the safety he provides. She is loved, and she allows that feeling, one she had been scared to feel, warm her soul, safe in the knowledge she provides the same solace for Jon. She remembers how she had thought that landing on the shores of Dragonstone would provide a sense of belonging; finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she would be home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But when she’s wrapped up in Jon, she realises how foolish that notion was. It is with the feel of him around her, so close to their daughter, that she knows that this is where her home is, and it is with that thought that she finally drifts off to sleep once more. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoyed this, and thank you for taking the time to read (you may have already read this on tumblr). Comments are always very much appreciated! ♥</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>